The shuttler penetrated the overcast about ten miles off target, located, and started its approach.
And something bit me on the leg.
I pulled up my pant's leg immediately, hoping to catch the culprit, but saw nothing save a thin red line about an inch long. It looked more a scratch than an insect bite. But I hadn't brushed against anything.
The shuttler grounded on the hilltop, and I headed up.
Perhaps it was exertion that speeded the reaction.
There was no pain, only a local numbness.
Before I'd traveled ten yards, my leg from the knee almost to the ankle felt prickly asleep.
I paused and looked. There was no swelling, no other discoloration.
I heard a raspy voice from the hilltop.
"Are you going to give me some help, or do I have to haul all this gear myself?"